The Works of the Author of the Night - Thoughts. In Three Volumes. Revised and Corrected by Himself, 2. kötet

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F. and C. Rivington, 1802

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223. oldal - Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
222. oldal - tis madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
238. oldal - Whose work is done ; who triumphs in the past ; Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile ; Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly ; That common, but opprobrious lot ! past hours, If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight, If folly bounds our prospect by the grave...
218. oldal - Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair!) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once, and make a refuge of the grave. How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there ! What numbers, once in Fortune's lap high-fed, Solicit the cold hand of Charity ! To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of Pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits, visit here, And breathe from your debauch: give, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you. But so great...
211. oldal - How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down — on what ? A fathomless abyss, A dread eternity, how surely mine ! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful is man...
366. oldal - Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, Blows autumn, and his golden fruits, away: Then melts into the spring : soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, fades ; As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend. Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. With this minute distinction, emblems just, Nature revolves, but man advances ; both Eternal ; that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul, Ardent, and tremulous,...
286. oldal - Oh tell me, mighty mind ! Where art thou ? Shall I dive into the deep ? Call to the sun, or ask the roaring winds, For their creator ? Shall I question loud The thunder, if in that th...
276. oldal - Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in, " Here he lies," And " Dust to dust
217. oldal - Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies! Night visions may befriend (as sung above): Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dreamt Of things impossible! (could sleep do more?) Of joys perpetual in perpetual change! Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave! Eternal sunshine in the storms of life!
93. oldal - If cold white mortals censure this great deed, Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom Revenge is virtue.

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